


A kiss in the garden and Other tales from the Domestication of Crowley and Aziraphale

by Twolittlesparrows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Femslash February, Fluff, Gardening, Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twolittlesparrows/pseuds/Twolittlesparrows
Summary: Written as part of the Ineffable wives Femslash February  2021A collection of short fics based on the Ineffable Wives Femslash February.--‘You’re staring, darling,’ She said, gently placing the box beside them.Crowley clicked their tongue, rolling their eyes, ‘Ah, sure I am. How can I not? I bet you’re doin’ it on purpose.’‘Doing what?’ She fell into a crouch beside them, hands on the top of a metal watering can.‘Being all pretty and butch. Gonna make me pass out, you are.’
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Ineffable Wives Femslash February 2021





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work here, please consider giving me a follow on Tumblr at [Neon-Goblin-Art](https://neon-goblin-art.tumblr.com) I post fanart and updates there :D Thanks!

This was Aziraphale’s first time helping with Crowley’s garden. They watched her as she padded barefoot over the stone pavers, carrying a large box of seedlings from their greenhouse. Her trousers were rolled above the knee, pale calf pink in the sun. She wore a wide brimmed sun hat, hiding her short curls. Freckles dotted her bare arms, muscles visible. She caught their eye and grinned, nose wrinkling. 

‘You’re staring, darling,’ She said, gently placing the box beside them. 

Crowley clicked their tongue, rolling their eyes, ‘Ah, sure I am. How can I not? I bet you’re doin’ it on purpose.’ 

‘Doing what?’ She fell into a crouch beside them, hands on the top of a metal watering can. 

‘Being all pretty and butch. Gonna make me pass out, you are.’ 

She laughed, eyes twinkling, her cheeks flushed, ‘Ah! Hush you, now come on. Tell me what to do.’ 

They did. Crowley showed their angel how to dig lines for the seedlings. How far to space them. They taught her how to create drainage in the flower beds, and how to check for aphids or spots. Crowley was kinder to these plants than they would have been if Aziraphale wasn’t there. But it didn’t matter. Not really. 

Soon the sun was baking Aziraphale, and she found some shade. Taking off her hat she wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned back against a tree. Crowley lay at her feet, their old, heavily patch work dress (only worn for outside gardening) twisted around their legs. Eyes closed, they listened to the breeze in the leaves, and birds. And to Aziraphale’s giggling. 

Crowley cracked an eye open, ‘What’s got you?’ 

Aziraphale sat down with a groan, rubbing her knees, ‘Oh, nothing.’ 

‘Come on,’ Crowley rolled over to lay on their belly, nudging her thigh with their elbow. ‘You were giggling.’ 

‘I’m just so happy,’ She said softly. ‘And...’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Well,’ she blushed then. ‘You looked so pretty in the light. How it filtered through the trees. Dappled,’ she tapped a finger to their nose, then leaned in to press a feather light kiss to their brow. 

Crowley smiled, eyes half closed. They lay with their head in her lap, and her fingers in their hair. They yawned, warm and safe. 

‘It feels good,’ Aziraphale said in a soft, far away voice, as if she was mostly speaking to herself. ‘To do some work with my hands.’ 

‘...Can give you some work to do with your hands,’ Crowley snickered. 

‘I meant in terms of the garden, you fiend.’ 

‘So did I!’ Crowley snorted with laughter, reaching up to pat her cheek. ‘I’ve got a compost heap that needs turning.’ 

Their angel clicked her tongue and flicked their ear, cheeks burning red. Crowley grinned. If this was how their gardening work was to be now, it was safe to say they were a big fan. They sat up and kissed Aziraphale sweetly, delighting in her happy little hum. 

They were a big fan indeed.


	2. Eyes

Crowley was on the roof.

Aziraphale had no idea when, or how, they had got up there. She stood on the lawn, a blanket around her shoulders watching them silently sit in the dark.

Folding the blanket against her chest, the angel spread her wings. With a solid push she was up and onto the roof, landing with a solid thunk. Bare feet skittered on the shingles. She threw out an arm - and was caught by Crowley. They clasped her wrist, pulling her back up to sit beside them. The blanket tumbled down to land on a rosebush.

'What you doin?' They asked, pulling her hard against their side. 'You're going to do yourself a mischief if you're not careful.'

'You can talk,' she huffed, wrapping one wing around Crowley, clinging to them. 'What are you doing up here?'

'Watching,' They said simply, turning back to gaze up at the night sky. 'Just watching.'

Aziraphale followed their gaze. The sky was messy with stars. Out here, away from the city, the sky was so bright. Not as bright as when the world was young, but still stunning.

'Did you make any of these?'

Crowley turned to look at her, a brow raised, 'I'm sorry, what?'

'The stars,' she said, tightening her wings around them both, seeking warmth. 'Did you make any of the ones overhead?'

'Oh...' They shrugged a shoulder, looking back up. 'I'm not sure, hang on.'

Crowley stood, leaning forward, face turns heavenward. Their fingers fluttered as they counted. They took a step forward. Aziraphale hooked her finger through the belt loop of their jeans.

'Don't fall, Crowley-'

'Yeah. There,' They pointed to a faint dusting of stars, almost amber in colour behind a bank of blues and yellows. 'Them. I did those.'

Wings out for balance, Aziraphale stood behind them, arms around their middle. She kissed their cheek, 'They're beautiful.'

'Yeah...Thanks,' Crowley gave a weak smile, turning to look at her. Their eyes met and the demon frowned with a small hum.

Aziraphale cocked her head, 'What?'

'Nothing...just...' they flashed her a quizzical look before examining the stars once more. 'They kinda match your eyes.'

'Oh...'

'Weird,' they said softly. 'I don't remember basing them off anything.'

Aziraphale nodded, 'It's just a coincidence. We didn't know each other then,' she chuckled softly. 'And I doubt you'd have made stars to match my eyes if we had.'

'...Yeah,' Crowley frowned. 'Not like I'd remember, anyway...' They curled their lip, looking back up at the sky. 'I'm gonna pretend they are, though.'

Aziraphale blinked, 'Pardon?'

'You know,' Crowley turned, arms draped over her shoulders. 'If I could make stars again, I would make one for you.' 

'Would you?' 

'Yup,' the demon puffed up their chest. 'It'd be the best one. And it'd match your eyes.' 

'Crowley-' 

'It'd be the ultimate fashion accessory. You'd be belle of the ball!' They laughed, nose wrinkling. They gave a lopsided grin, their head haloed by the dazzling night sky. 

Heart fluttering, Aziraphale wrapped her wings around them both, holding Crowley close. She cupped their cheek, fingers tracing along the underside of their jaw. 'You can be very sweet when you want to be,' she said. 'But you are the only star I need.'


	3. Book

If you made it past the front desk of A. Z. Fell's bookshop, where Ms. Fell herself was often stationed (peering over the top of some antique tomb ready with an excuse to usher you back out onto the street) you may just find a slinky person of indeterminate gender lounging in an armchair. 

Set between towering and overflowing shelves, dressed in a tidy, but plain black singlet and miniskirt, sat Crowley. Their legs a tangle over the arm of the chair, with one foot bouncing in the air as they read. Body hunched over a small leather bound book, barely bigger than their palm, Crowley flicked through the pages. They had forgone their sunglasses, certain that they were not to be disturbed by a roaming human. 

Their eyes hurt. 

It wasn't just that the print was tiny and they had to sit with their nose nearly touching the page to make sense of it all. Reading was always just a bit of a struggle for them. It didn't matter if the book was as big as their head - Crowley would still have to concentrate to really take in the words. It was probably why they had gravitated more towards telly and music than books. 

But they had felt compelled. Something about this small, unassuming book had called out and simply begged for them to read. Like a strange bibliophile siren, calling them deep into the bookshop, and demanding to be found. 

Oh, and what words they had found. Crowley bit their lip, reading a passage where the poet, in no uncertain terms, was describing a lover's soft and ample- 

'What are you doing-'

'Nothing!' Crowley scrambled to their feet, slipping on a loose rug. The book tumbled from their hands, skittering across the floor to land under a bookshelf. 

Aziraphale watched the book's journey, turning back to cock a brow at the demon.'What was all that?'

'Nothing!' Crowley cried again. With a hand on their hip, they tossed their long hair back, 'What do you want?'

'Need I remind you that you are in my shop,' Aziraphale said sternly, folding her arms. She walked over to where the book had landed, crouching down. 'I don't need you lobbing my books across the room.' 

Crowley, wretched and groaning, sunk back into the chair, hands over their eyes. 

Aziraphale fished out the book, dusted off the cover with her sleeve, and read the title. She paused - looking from Crowley to the book and back again. 

'You're reading...Poetry?' 

'No.' 

The angel tapped her foot. The toe of her shiny brown loafer hitting like a ticking bomb, 'Crowley-' 

'I don't read. I can't read, even. My eyes don't allow it.' 

Aziraphale made a show of setting the book aside. She took a step forward, hands on her hips, looking like a stern governess about to dispense punishment. 

She kissed the top of their head. She sat on the arm of the chair, and with two fingers under their chin, lifted Crowley's head to face her. Their face was beet red, they knew. Stomach coiling, Crowley tried to avoid her gaze. 

'My dear,' she cooed, stroking their hair. 'Why are you blushing? There is nothing wrong in reading..."poetry".' The way she purred when she spoke made Crowley's brain turn to goo.

'Sshhut up,' They groaned, trying to turn away. But she held them fast, hands on either side of their jaw. 

Aziraphale pressed her lips to their forehead, thumbs stroking their cheeks, 'Perhaps we could read it together?' She chuckled then, 'I could read to you. And you could...' Aziraphale let the sentence fade with a suggestive wave of a hand.

Crowley, who a second previously had been willing the world to swallow them whole, now perked up. 

'Oh?' They smirked, hand on her knee. They bit their lip, pressing forward, 'Yeah? That uh...yup! Good idea!' 

Their angel laughed, slipping onto their lap. With a wave of her hand, the shop door locked. And Crowley was enveloped in a world of softness. Of their angel, and their own kind of "poetry".


	4. Cold

The angel sneezed and the cottage walls shook. 

Aziraphale groaned, rolling over in the bed, tangling herself even more in the duvet and quilts. She sneezed again, making the windows rattle. Burrowing into the pillows, she sniffled, hugging a box of tissues to her chest. 

'Crowley!' She whined, peeking out of her cocoon. 

'Hang on babes!' Her wife called out, followed by metallic clattering. 

Aziraphale felt rotten, like her head was about to explode in a cloud of goo. She hadn't felt this wretched in years. Centuries. The bedroom door creaked further open. 

Crowley, pushing a rattling tea trolley, came trotting in at speed. The trolley held four things: 

1) An extremely large and steaming teapot (with cup) 

2) A plate with three kinds of cake slices 

3) A large bowl of cut up fruits 

and lastly, 4) A steaming bowl that wafted eucalyptus fumes into the air. 

Aziraphale inched forward, still wrapped in her blankets. Crowley sat beside her, holding the bowl in their lap. 

'Come on now,' They said softly. 'Huff this is and maybe you'll get your sense of taste back.' 

'I don't want to.' 

'Angel-' 

'My throat hurts, my back hurts, I can't breathe and I'm grumpy!' 

Crowley sighed, tapping the side of the bowl with a clawed finger, 'Feel better now you got that out of your system?' 

Aziraphale pulled the blanket over her head, taking the bowl in shaking hands. '...Yes,' she muttered, letting the vapors envelop her. After a few deep breaths she did indeed start to feel better. Crowley swapped her bowl for a cup of tea and when she sipped Aziraphale tasted honey and lemon mixed in. It was bliss. The pain in her throat eased. Warmed from the inside, Aziraphale snuggled against her wife, picking up a biscuit. 

'...Thank you darling,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry I'm such a mope.' 

Crowley gave her a squeeze, wrapping their arms around her, 'Nah, babes, you're fine. Be a mope. Be a grump. You're allowed.' 

Snuggling closer, whole body pressed to her wife, Aziraphale closed her eyes, sipping her tea and nibbling her biscuit. Crowley rubbed her back, humming softly. 

'...Is that one of your bebops?' She asked weakly, the pain in her throat returning. 

'Yeah, sorry. I can stop-' 

'No! No, please,' she nuzzled into their chest, setting the cup down. She wrapped her arms around their middle, ear over their heart, 'I like it when you sing.' 

Crowley kissed her hair, sighing softly. 

Aziraphale yawned, listening to the rhythm of their heart, 'Can I nap here?' 

'O'course.' 

'...And can you sing to me?' 

Her wife pressed another kiss to her hair, 'Yeah. Course I can. I got you.'


	5. wish

Sun warm on their skin, head pillowed by moss and flowers, Crowley dozed. Laying in just a bra and shorts they basked, body stretched out and completely relaxed. They hadn’t felt this relaxed since...ever. 

Somewhere on the edge of their mind they knew Aziraphale was paddling in the creek. Last they saw she had her dress hitched and tucked into a pair of shorts and was looking for frogs. Crowley hummed, and rolled onto their front, their hip bumping the picnic basket. 

Cold hands stroked down their spine. Hissing, Crowley cracked an eye open. 

Aziraphale knelt beside them, gently tapping her fingers along their back and shoulders. She caught their eye and smiled, a loose curl of white blonde hair falling across her face. With a clumsy, sleepy hand Crowley gently pushed it behind her ear. 

‘Whatcha doing?’ They asked, moving to lay their head in her lap. They could smell the water on her skin. The scent of fresh flowers, grass, and mud. Dirt and life. They were dozing again, her fingers lightly tapping again. 

‘I’m counting,’ She said softly. 

‘Mm’ frec...kles?’ 

‘Yes,’ both hands now trailed over shoulder blades and spine, down to the small of their back. ‘And I’m making wishes.’ 

‘...On my freckles?’ 

Aziraphale traced a finger over the side of their hip, ‘Yes.’

Crowley smiled, a dopey half smile of the barely conscious but deeply in love. ‘What are you wishin’ bout?’ 

‘My darling,’ Aziraphale cooed, bringing her fingertips to the base of their skull and massaging. Crowley melted. ‘I can’t tell you that,’ she said. ‘Then it won’t come true.’ 

‘......why?’ 

‘I don’t know, but that’s the rule.’ 

‘....Sss’ stupid rule...’ 

The angel giggled, a truly beautiful sound that made Crowley’s heart sing. A kiss was pressed between their shoulders blades, lips lingering as Aziraphale whispered her soundless wish. They hugged her knees, hand lazily petting her skirt, and let themself drift off completely.


End file.
